


Falling as the spring wind blows

by crayyyonn



Series: Soulmate verse [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11691045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: Yugyeom's side of the story. Companion to Achromatic, you'll need to read that first for context.





	Falling as the spring wind blows

**Author's Note:**

> title + some lines are from cherry blossom ending.

He hears the song before he sees him.

His view is hindered a little by the logo on the glass door, but he still catches sight of a profile that’s all sharp lines and sharper edges. The man grins at his—Yugyeom optimistically decides on friend—and the affection in it tugs on his heartstrings. Before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s stepping forward to open the door. The rain blows in with a soft tinkle of bells.

“Come on in before you get soaked.”

They both turn, and while the friend is all wide twinkling eyes, straight nose, and plush lips, the kind of handsome that would have rendered Yugyeom speechless on a normal day, he’s—there’s no other word for it—star struck by the other man, and not just because of the excellent bone structure ancient sculptors would have cried for. It’s the way he runs his hand through damp hair, the two dark moles above his left eye, the blinding flash of straight white teeth when he smiles. The slitted eyes, which reminds Yugyeom of a cat’s, curve a little at the corners.

“Thanks,” he says, and even his voice is a smooth, beautiful tenor, blending melodiously with the crooning one in his head.

 _As the spring wind blows_ , he hears, and he falls.

 

His name is Jaebum.

He learns it by chance when Jinyoung, whose name he learns from his manager, Mark, asks him for his order one of the times they come to the café together. Yugyeom debates writing it on the paper cup but decides to go with _Defsoul_ in the end, the name Jaebum had given him himself. Still, when he calls out _iced blended raspberry mocha for Defsoul_ , he silently corrects it to Jaebum—no, Jaebum _hyung_ , because he’s definitely older—in his heart.

It feels right, he decides, so he continues using it in secret, hoping that one day he’ll gift him with it.

 

He gets his piercings because he’s seen the ones lining Jaebum’s ears and they look so cool he has to have them. Only the lobes though, because Mark’s dire warnings about cartilage piercing heal times and possible rejection had him shit scared. It hurts a little when the needle pokes through flesh despite having Bambam there as moral support, and when he laughs at his nervousness, Yugyeom goads him into getting them too. He couldn’t feel his hand for ages afterwards.

The silver hoops are the nicest among the ones he’s made to pick from, but more importantly, they look rather like the black ones Jaebum wears the most, so he chooses them. And yes, he’ll freely admit to his weird fascination (not stalkerish obsession, no matter what Mark or Bambam says) for Jaebum’s piercings. They’re cool, okay?

And all the pain and ribbing he has to endure pays off, because when he next sees Jaebum, the other man breaks routine to say, “You got new piercings?” after his usual, polite _good afternoon._ Yugyeom flushes a little, pleased that he’s noticed. He gives Jaebum extra whipped cream (on top of the extra he usually adds anyway) for that, and although he secretly worries for the older man’s heart health, the delighted grin he gets from him makes him forget it in an instant.

He’ll do anything to keep that smile on his face.

 

The first time Jackson comes along to the café with Jaebum, clinging onto him much too familiarly, in Yugyeom’s opinion, he has to actively tell himself it’s not good form to refuse a paying customer.

He grudgingly rings up the overly-cheery, “A small iced latte and hot chocolate please,” and staunchly refuses to look over to where Jaebum is making himself comfortable at the table Yugyeom has come to think of as his.

He must have been staring at the latte he’s making for too long, because Bambam slides right into his space and plucks the cup neatly from his hands, saying, “I know what you’re thinking, don’t do it,” and Yugyeom has to concede that it’s also not good form to consider poisoning a customer’s drink. He lets Bambam call out the order, slipping off into the backroom for his break to post a dimly-lit selfie with a suitably angsty caption about love, life, and letting go.

It’s poetic, he types in reply to Mark’s immediate _lol wtf yru so emo_.

 

He wallows for a week until Jaebum comes back again, this time with Jackson _and_ Jinyoung, who—there’s no other word for it—canoodles at the corner table while Jaebum orders for all three of them. Following Yugyeom’s gaze, he says apologetically, “I’ll tell them to tone down the PDA a little, they’re always like that, it’s quite annoying.”

Yugyeom beams, not only because of the tidbit of information or the conspiratorial smile he shoots him as he says it, but also because it’s the longest sentence Jaebum has ever said to him, and tells him it’s okay. The grin he gets in return crinkles the corners of Jaebum’s eyes. They crease deeper when he sees Yugyeom top the whipped cream in his drink with chocolate sauce.

 _Let’s hold hands on this street_ , he carefully types that night under a shot of an empty tree-lined street at dusk that he takes on a whim. He ignores the _ewww_ that pings into his phone just moments later. What does Bambam know about love, he thinks.

 

He doesn’t believe in soulmates.

He never has, not even when Mark finds the girl he’s destined for, bursting into the café one morning to announce the news in giddy joy. Then Bambam finds _his_ soulmate, and all it does is make Yugyeom feel left behind by his best friend, and more resentful toward fate. He has no need for its interference, he can find his own partner, thank you very much.

Then he finds out that Jaebum the Romantic thinks the idea of soulmates is comforting, that bonds mean certainty, and guesses that he’s waiting for his One, even if he doesn’t seem to have a mark himself.

Yugyeom doesn’t believe in soulmates, but wishes wholeheartedly that he is Jaebum’s anyway, because the wistfulness in his voice when he tells Yugyeom it would be nice to know for certain there is someone out there for him, is rather hard to bear.

Then he finds out Jaebum does have a mark, and convinces himself that it’s a wholly unselfish wish as he lies on the asphalt in Gwacheon with Jaebum’s hand in his. He can’t help the need to give Jaebum everything he’s ever wanted, and if he has to pray for a mark for it to happen, so be it.

And he doesn’t feel the tingling of knowledge Bambam described to him, or the instant connection Mark spoke eloquently (for once) about, but he thinks the wish he made on the star shower has been half-granted anyway when Jaebum fumbles his way through telling him he loves him on the road back to Seoul.

The windows are down, the winds blowing in. Yugyeom’s heart throbs with the force of loving him back.

 

Moving in together is a huge step and when she comes to help him pack, his mother warns that it’s much too soon for them, him in his final year and Jaebum in the beginning stages of his career. _And what if_ , she starts, but Yugyeom doesn’t let her continue.

It’s unfortunate that he’s so close to her, so much that he confides in her about everything, that she can read him without trying. He continues folding his clothes into boxes, but when she comes to hug him, he stops and turns into her, laying his forehead on her shoulder.

“I trust him, mom.”

The _I have to_ remains unspoken, but her answering _I know_ tells him she heard it anyway.

 

The first time he brings the hyacinths back from the market and presents them to Jaebum, he laughs and calls him a closet romantic. Then he buries his nose in them.

“They smell like spring,” he says, eyes bright.

“If I had known you liked flowers so much, I would have bought you some sooner.”

He leans down to kiss him, pressing him into the large kitchen counter they’d mostly chosen the apartment for. Jaebum kisses back enthusiastically, throwing his arms around him. The flowers tickle his neck.

“Where were we on our mission, hyung?” Yugyeom says, lifting his head a fraction, just enough to murmur the words against Jaebum’s mouth.

“I think it was the dining table. We’ve checked off all the living room surfaces,” Jaebum replies. Detaching himself from Yugyeom, he smoothly hops onto the counter with a suggestive grin.

“Here?” Yugyeom asks coyly, even though his hands are already sliding down over Jaebum’s chest, under his shirt, over his waistband. He undoes the snap on his jeans, movements sure and familiar.

“Right here.”

At Jaebum’s whisper, Yugyeom lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it next to the flowers like a glove, a challenge. Grinning, he leans in.

 

Whenever he feels down, Yugyeom tells himself that Jaebum loves him.

He may not say it often (and not since that one time with Gwacheon in their rearview mirror) but he shows it, in the way he nags about his school work, the way he gets up earlier to make him proper Korean breakfasts, the way he willingly eats Jilhal Bros three times a week, hated mayonnaise be damned. It’s trite, but it’s in the way his eyes always find his across crowded rooms, the way his touch lingers like he never wants to let go. And Yugyeom really wishes he won’t have to, but he knows it’s just a matter of time.

He’s tried to imagine it, living without color. The way Jaebum described it, way back during their first date, it’s layers of gray blending into each other, so everything is muted, indistinct. On a whim, Yugyeom grayscales a picture of himself, just to see what he looks like in Jaebum’s eyes.

Unremarkable, he concludes.

He does the same to a picture of Jaebum. His favorite one, where he’s in bed, squinting up into the phone Yugyeom accosted him with with a sleepy smile. The grays make his features stand out even more against the white sheets, the twin moles on his eyelid coming to life, gaze so soft it makes Yugyeom’s heart clench.

He’s impossibly breathtaking. Yugyeom clutches his chest, reminds himself that Jaebum loves _him_.

 

He knows Jaebum loves him, but insecurity is a devious thing, creeping in unnoticed until it’s too late and it has laid down roots in previously unsuspected cracks and crevices. He’s hard pressed to pinpoint when it starts, but when he finally recognizes it, it’s much too late to expel. 

Then the late nights start— _school production, Gyeom, you have no idea what a mess everything is_ —followed by long phone calls— _it’s that music teacher I told you about, I’ll introduce you two some time, he’s really cute I think you’ll like him_ —and now, coming home smelling like stale alcohol and cigarette smoke.

“Gyeom-ah,” he slurs, flopping onto the couch and draping himself over Yugyeom. His breath stinks. “Come to bed.”

Surreptitiously moving away, he wedges his laptop more firmly on his lap. “This paper is due in three days hyung, I gotta work.”

It’s not even a lie but it doesn’t deter Jaebum in the least. Leaning up, he starts pressing wet kisses on his jaw, murmuring, “You work too hard, come to bed with me.”

“Hyung, please,” Yugyeom says reluctantly, but he knows he’ll give in eventually.

He always does and he’s starting to hate himself for it.

 

The next time he knows Jaebum has rehearsals, Yugyeom stays out instead of going home after classes as he always does. He bums about Mark and his girlfriend’s place, goes to karaoke with Bambam, or hits the clubs with his dance crew. It becomes habit, and when Bambam brings up the fact that he’s been out more often than he’s at home, he shrugs away the censure, concentrates on channeling his inner Sia.

He doesn’t call Bambam anymore after that, or Mark, for that matter, because he hates feeling like a third wheel even if they’re both too polite to tell him to leave. It doesn’t matter because his nights at the clubs pay off, he meets more and more people, who for some reason like hanging out with him. Like him for _him_ , instead of a missing mark they’re wishing would appear. Oh Jaebum doesn’t say it, always tells him it’s alright, that it doesn’t matter but he _knows_ it’s what he’s waiting for, what he wants, and fuck if Yugyeom doesn’t yearn to give it to him but he can't, _he can’t_ and he’s so tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He waves off the sultry entreaty of the girl who’s trying to get him to dance and drinks some more.

 

The other shoe drops.

 

Jackson and Jinyoung look more like beleaguered parents in their rumpled nightclothes than friends almost his own age, but it’s nearly two in the morning and with his home more than an hour away from Seoul, there’s nowhere he can go.

They wave off his apologies for bothering them and let him stay for the night with the promise that he’ll try to work things out with Jaebum, that everything _will_ work out because they know Jaebum and they know Jaebum loves him. Yugyeom nods agreeably but he isn’t stupid, they’ve always been more Jaebum’s friends than his, it’s a no-brainer that they will be on Jaebum’s side when they realize how shitty he's been acting.

He promises anyway. It sounds hollow and they hear right through it but they don’t kick him out, even when one night turns into three into five into two weeks, two whole weeks of waiting for Jaebum to come and find him and bring him home, but it doesn’t happen. He waves off Jinyoung's increasingly gruff concern, flagellates himself with the guilt from Jackson's mounting anger. He doesn’t know why they’re surprised. They should have known it wouldn’t. They’re Jaebum’s friends, after all.

 

He goes quietly one morning after leaving behind enough money to cover his two-week stay. When he gets home, his mother takes one look at him and wordlessly folds him into her arms, telling him he can stay as long as he wants, that she’ll talk to her friend, his old landlord, about the apartment he used to rent from her.

After a few days at home, he moves back into his new-old apartment, but he’s restless after a week. Despite his old bed and the thousands of memories he’s made in the tiny one-bedder, it doesn’t feel quite like it used to. He’s never noticed that the place is depressingly silent, the kind of silent that swallows a person whole.

Thinking long and hard about what their, no, the other apartment had that this place doesn’t, he hits on the obvious. The hyacinths, of course. The hyacinths will bring the place right back to life.

 

He ignores the part of his heart that’s chanting a litany of Jaebum’s name. 

 

So he goes back to the market near their— _the_ —apartment despite it being a train and two bus rides away.

Blindly winding his way toward the flower stall with his eyes on his phone, he’s passing by the vegetable section when the bustling murmurs around him suddenly disappear, drowned out by a familiar melody.

 _As the spring wind blows_ , he hears. Instinctively, he looks up.

Jaebum is there, beautiful and unreal, and even though he’s so close, Yugyeom is afraid to reach out, for fear that he’ll push him away, that he’ll disappear.

(Or worse, that he’ll ignore him, or smile at him like they’re strangers, or—the rush of fear swells to a crescendo in his ears, harmonizing discordantly with the music in his head. He stops thinking.)

“Yugyeom.”

Glued into place, he watches as Jaebum strides toward him, saying his name, and his heart starts pounding so hard it feels like it will propel him away. He tears his eyes from Jaebum’s, glad for the fingers that come up around his wrist to ground him. 

“Gyeom-ah,” he hears again. The voice is familiar, soothing, so he chances a look. “Hyung’s lonely without you.”

It pierces through the wall of sound, smoothing out the jarring edges until the distinctive melody emerges, familiar, comforting. The relief that washes over him almost makes his knees buckle. 

“Come home?”

Jaebum half-smiles, beseeching. The corners of his eyes crease a little.

And just like the first time, he falls all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> this is for everyone who loved achromatic despite its many flaws! thank you <333


End file.
